


She Keeps Me Warm

by ClydeThistles



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Decorating the christmas tree, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Fluff, Gay Panic, Mistletoe, Only One Bed, Thought Transference, Witcherverse, Yennaia, little angst, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28292295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Post-Sodden Yennefer and Tissaia gradually become closer, just in time for Yule. Written as part of The Witcher Secret Santa 2020.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 123
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thegirl20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl20/gifts).



> Following book-canon briefly with Yennefer being temporarily blinded post-Sodden but healed by the time the fic starts. All otherwise non-canon and non-spoilery.

The heavy oak door with its decorative wrought iron fittings still makes the pit of Yennefer’s stomach drop. She spent so many anxious minutes staring at it as a student, she can trace the panels and studs with her eyes closed. The polished brass handle was always cold in her palm, even if she was sweltering with nerves. All of which should be distant memories and not something that troubles she, Yennefer of Vengerburg, the mage who incinerated an entire army of Nilfgaardians. But it is still the door to Tissaia’s study. And the Rectoress of Aretuza still makes Yennefer’s pulse skitter with a heady mixture of trepidation and longing, no matter how many years it has been since she was a frightened girl with a twisted spine. Squaring her now symmetrical shoulders, Yennefer mutters,

“Pull yourself together, you idiot!”

and knocks on the door. Tissaia’s voice carries effortlessly, even though she is probably at the far end of the study at her desk,

“Enter!”

Yennefer twists the handle, and the door swings open too quietly for its weight and size, its hinges oiled with almost religious dedication. There are few things that infuriate Tissaia more than a creaking door. The Arch-Mage is writing at her desk, the scratch of her quill audible in the hush that pervades her chambers, and she finishes her train of thought before laying the pen neatly to the side and looking up. Yennefer finds herself suddenly uncertain what to do with either her face or her hands. She sighs inwardly. It has been almost three weeks since the remaining mages returned from Sodden and Aretuza has been turned into hospital, chapel, lodgings and all-round safe harbour for those who survived. When Yennefer first opened her eyes, Tissaia had been there, perched on the edge of a chair and biting her lower lip anxiously. She’d even reached out and taken Yennefer’s hand in her own, her palms warm and her fingers gentle. But then something had shuttered inside her. Yennefer had watched it deaden her eyes as though a blind were being pulled down, her shoulders snapping back into her usual ramrod posture and her hand being drawn away. And the two of them have been tiptoeing round each other ever since.

Yennefer is at a loss because she no longer knows how to behave round her former mentor. Or, more precisely, she no longer knows how she _feels_ about her. The hurt and regret are still there, Tissaia’s numerous barbs and taunts still etched inside her, but the resentment and hatred are gone. And without those to grip hold of, Yennefer is unsure where she stands. They are not friends; she’s not even certain she likes Tissaia, at most she affords her a grudging respect (tinged with the awe she tells herself she has grown out of but probably never will). And yet, they are not enemies anymore; they cannot return to who they were before all this. Not after the thoughts that had flowed between them when each believed they would not live to endure the consequences of such openness. 

All this tumbles through Yennefer’s head as she steps closer to the desk and she has to exert considerable force of will to stop her thoughts broadcasting. Even with her Chaos muted by dimeritium poisoning, Tissaia is more than capable of picking up any errant thought projections so Yennefer grits her teeth and clears her mind. Just when she has succeeded in composing herself however, Tissaia leans back in her chair, steepling her hands and observes,

“I have never known you to knock before.”

Yennefer bristles instinctively, a smirk threatening at the edge of her mouth to mask the insecurity but Tissaia suddenly smiles, that wide dimpled smile that lights up her eyes, and Yennefer softens under it. The Rectoress stands, smoothing her skirts,

“I hate it when people tease, I should know better than to do so to others. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Yennefer blurts it out but quietens when she visibly startles Tissaia, “I don’t mind you teasing, just… maybe next time smile sooner so I know you’re not actually reprimanding me?”

If Tissaia is surprised at such mature, eloquent interpersonal communication, she does not show it. She straightens her pendant then beckons Yennefer towards the tall arched window behind her desk,

“Come into the light, I want to check on your eyes.”

Yennefer huffs, “They’re _fine_ , I’ve already got a host of healers and mages making sure I don’t lose my sight. It’s hardly worth your time and energy to be preoccupying yourself with.”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows and clasps her hands resolutely at her waist. It is a pose Yennefer knows well, one that brooks no argument, so she sighs and crosses to the window. Tissaia manoeuvres her by her elbows to stand facing her, angling her so the afternoon sun hits her square in the face. Yennefer squints and grumbles,

“You’ll blind me all over again at this rate!”

“Hush.” Tissaia stretches up on tiptoes to better see her eyes and Yennefer bites the inside of her cheek to keep from jibing because remarking on the Rectoress’ stature is never a wise move. With gentle but firm thumbs, Tissaia pulls at Yennefer’s eyelids, watching closely as her pupils react to the light. “Your pupils are still sluggish and too narrow for my liking. You’d better be using enough candles when you’re reading.” And, as an afterthought, “Not that you ever read.”

Yennefer is trying not to nuzzle into the palms cupping her cheeks, not to lose herself in Tissaia’s gaze as her icy-blue irises inspect Yennefer’s violet ones. To distract herself from such foolish notions she retorts,

“I read plenty! In fact, I came because I have a book I thought you may like to borrow.”

Tissaia releases her face and steps away, seemingly satisfied with her observations and content that the healers have done their work well. She takes a step towards the pair of armchairs round the fire but thinks better of it and instead returns to behind her desk, forcing Yennefer to stand in front of it to continue their conversation, the polished ebony a reassuring boundary between them. Yennefer reaches into the pocket of her gown and pulls out a small but thick, blue-bound volume with faded Elder lettering on the cover and spine. She lays it on the desk and slides it across to Tissaia,

“I don’t remember there being a copy in the library here.”

Tissaia traces her fingertip over the script, mouthing the words silently, her eyes widening in amazement, “Wherever did you find this? Most copies were lost when Mirthe fell, I have not seen one since!”

“How I came by it is a story for when we are both significantly drunker.” Tissaia withdraws her hand, eyeing the book dubiously and Yennefer chuckles, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing salacious. The book was well cared for by its previous owner and now, I can think of no one better to be its guardian.” She had only meant to loan it, but something makes her pick it up and press it into Tissaia’s hand, “It is yours, if you want it.”

Tissaia resumes caressing the pages, rifling them with her thumb and inhaling in pleasure at the scent of them. She looks giddy as a child on their name-day, but she pulls herself together and protests,

“I couldn’t! It is worth a fortune; you cannot simply give it away.”

Yennefer insists, “I give it to _you_.”

Tissaia blinks too quickly and studies the surface of her desk assiduously for some moments before looking up and nodding, “Then I accept your gift.”

The bell tower chimes and makes them both jump. Tissaia inverts the hourglass on her desk in a well-practiced gesture and clears her throat,

“I should return to my duties, there are accounts to settle if we are to have enough supplies to feed everyone.”

Yennefer is struck with the urge to grab Tissaia by the hand and pull her down the corridors to… pick flowers, raid the kitchens, steal a pair of horses and race them along the cliffs… Anything carefree and mischievous, anything to smooth the crease that has reappeared between her eyebrows. But she knows a dismissal when she hears one. And besides, she reminds herself, she’s not even certain she likes Tissaia. So, Yennefer tosses her curls to bolster her confidence and smirks,

“You always were a swot.”

“And _you_ are a good-for-nothing nuisance.”

Tissaia’s face is stern but her eyes twinkle and Yennefer laughs, shaking her head – when _did_ it become so easy to laugh around Tissaia? She has almost reached the door, which is now just a door and not the entrance to a monster’s lair, when Tissaia calls from behind her desk,

“Yennefer?”

Yennefer turns to look over her shoulder and Tissaia lays her hand lightly on the cover of the book,

“Thank you.”

Yennefer nods and leaves, making sure the door is firmly shut before letting the grin split her face and tugging a hand through her hair; a sure sign (albeit a rare one) that she is feeling bashful.

* * * *

Tissaia watches as the last of the white sand in her hourglass trickles down and tuts when the belltower is almost two heartbeats behind it – she will need to have it re-wound if it has started to slow. The chimes die away and Tissaia sits further forward in her armchair, fingers gravitating towards her pendant as she fights the urge to stand and pace. Yennefer is late. Which is not unexpected, but it still makes Tissaia fidgety. She tells herself it is because she values order and punctuality, but the truth is far more worrying – it is because she is anxious to see the younger mage. Tissaia cannot pinpoint the moment when Yennefer’s presence became something which she craved rather than dreaded. A careful friendship has bloomed between them in the warmth of their admissions at Sodden and the Rectoress is taken-aback at how big a hole in her everyday life existed before this new closeness. She had not noticed it, had chosen not to perhaps. But now that Yennefer’s laughter and wit and fire is filling the hollow, empty space, Tissaia cannot ignore the fact she was lonely before this. Unbearably lonely. They meet every evening now, after the day’s work is done, and talk. Tissaia has never been one for talking when there is nothing of import to say but she enjoys listening to Yennefer who can fill hours with tales of dragon-hunts, djinns and far-off lands. It does not escape Tissaia that all these adventures were driven by the search for a cure to her infertility, but she never mentions it. Often, they read either in silence or out loud to one another, and Tissaia has rediscovered her passion for learning. She has spent so long teaching and imparting knowledge that she had forgotten what it felt like to wrap her mind round a new concept. Although her mind is occasionally worse-for-wear depending on whose turn it is to bring the refreshments. She usually brings something to eat, honey-cakes or fresh bread and a good wine that can be savoured a glass at a time. Yennefer however has a penchant for Temerian rye or pepper vodka that must be drunk in multiple small glasses and by the end of those evenings, Tissaia is not fit to write her own name let alone understand complex incantations. One night, Yennefer came bearing a bottle of peach brandy which had all the potency of vodka but none of the burn and Tissaia had gotten rather liberal with her own servings. The details are hazy as to how she ended up there, but she woke the next morning in her own bed with a pounding headache and (mercifully) still fully clothed. Which only goes to show how close she has allowed Yennefer to become – no one has seen Tissaia tipsy in decades, but Yennefer somehow sets her at ease and makes relaxation a pleasant experience rather than a disconcerting one.

That doesn’t stop Tissaia’s heart from leaping into her throat however when she hears the now familiar triplet that is Yennefer’s knock. She makes herself sit back and picks up a book so as not to look like she has been waiting on tenterhooks,

“It’s open!”

Yennefer shouts, “My hands are full, you’ll need to let me in!”

Tissaia crosses her study and opens the door to see Yennefer cradling no less than four bottles, “How long are you planning on being here? You’ve got enough alcohol to last us a week!”

Yennefer snorts in disdain as she strides into the room, “Pfft! We’d get through this before dawn if you weren’t such a lightweight.”

She flashes a brilliant smile to soften the jibe and Tissaia feels her cheeks pinking so she busies herself with stoking the fire to distract from such foolishness. Yennefer plonks the bottles on the little round table between the two armchairs then flops into her customary seat and groans,

“My feet are killing me!”

Tissaia rakes at the coals with the poker, urging the new logs to catch, “Were you out walking?”

“No. It’s these damn shoes, instruments of torture more like.”

Yennefer kicks up the hem of her gown and Tissaia arches her eyebrows at the boots that cling all the way up to her thighs, the heels obscenely high and spindly.

“Perhaps sore feet are what you deserve for wearing such ridiculous items.”

She is expecting a counterargument from Yennefer but there is only silence and she turns to find the younger mage staring at her. Tissaia realises she has spent the last few moments bent at the waist reaching into the grate, and that she has done so at the perfect angle for Yennefer to observe her bottom. Her slack-jawed appearance would be gratifying if Tissaia weren’t too busy feeling mortified, so she straightens up abruptly and clears her throat,

“Well, that’s that sorted. I swear the new kitchen boy can’t build a decent fire to save his life.”

She has barely settled herself in her seat when Yennefer starts trying to pull her boots off, succeeding only in spilling cushions onto the floor as she squirms. Tissaia sighs and gets up again, hitching her skirts and kneeling at Yennefer’s feet. Yennefer protests,

“You don’t have to do that! Get up off your knees, I’ll magic them away.”

“You will do no such thing. I forbid such a frivolous use of energy. Chaos is not a cheap conjurer’s trick but a delicate instrument. It is not the solution to your impractical fashion sense.”

With deft fingers, Tissaia unlaces the boots then grips the heel and sole before tugging. Yennefer’s legs are lithe and shapely, but the leather is snug and Tissaia is red in the face with exertion by the time the first boot slides off. The second one is even more stubborn, and Tissaia stands to gain some leverage, pulling so forcefully that when it does finally loosen, she promptly falls on her backside, the boot still clutched in her hands. Yennefer manages to control her laughter long enough to ask,

“Are you alright?”

But the confused look on Tissaia’s face as she tries to work out how she has ended up on the floor is so endearing and the sight of her with her legs stuck out in front of her, skirts all in disarray is such a stark contrast to her usual composure that Yennefer dissolves into helpless giggles. Tissaia grumbles,

“You _would_ laugh at another’s misfortune, even when they were aiding you. Insufferable girl!”

Yennefer helps her up, still chuckling, “I’m sorry, it’s just you looked so surprised!” She steadies Tissaia on her feet and brushes down her skirts for her, “Thank you though, I feel I may yet escape being hobbled for life now that they’re off.”

Tissaia thrusts the boot at her, “Take your accursed footwear and pour me a drink. A large one after all that nonsense.”

On closer inspection, Tissaia realises that only two of the bottles contain alcohol, the others wide-necked flasks holding Touissant marinated olives. Yennefer spoons some out into an earthenware bowl and sets it on the table between their glasses of wine. Tissaia asks,

“No vodka?”

“A grateful client gave me the wine, I thought you’d enjoy it more than I would alone.”

Tissaia settles back in her armchair and sips the ruby claret, humming in appreciation at the excellent vintage, “You don’t have to peddle your charms and potions like some hedge mage now, you know? You are my guest. And the Brotherhood will not dare to turn you away, not after Sodden.”

Yennefer shrugs, “I like to have my own work, my own earnings. Besides, it brings me satisfaction to solve problems.”

She reaches for an olive and pops it into her mouth, her fingers and lips slick with oil and raises her eyes to find Tissaia watching her,

“You’re looking at me strangely, Rectoress.”

“I have never heard you admit to enjoying helping others. It is a pleasant revelation.”

Yennefer shrugs, “There is a pleasure in fixing what has been broken, in straightening what was twisted.”

Her careful choice of words does not escape Tissaia who keeps her eyes on the wine in her glass whilst asking,

“Does it still trouble you? Your back?”

She looks up and worries she has overstepped when she sees the tightening round Yennefer’s mouth, but the younger mage relents and answers,

“Not usually. It aches in the cold. And my shoulder tires more easily than I would like when I am casting. For the most part though, I can pretend I was never a cripple.”

“ _Don’t_ use that word.”

Yennefer raises an eyebrow, smirking, “I can use it if I choose, it is my body I am referring to after all.”

“You were never a cripple, I never allowed you to see yourself as one.”

“No, merely as a farmyard animal.”

The words hang in the air making it stifling thick enough to reach out and grab hold of. Tissaia sets her glass to the side and leans forward to better hold Yennefer’s gaze,

“I’m sorry. I should never have bought you. Or called you those things.” She reaches out and lays a hand on Yennefer’s knee, “Forgive me.”

Yennefer’s eyes drop from Tissaia’s to the hand on her knee, but she lifts them again and sneers, “Have you ever used _that_ word before?”

Tissaia does not rise to the bait, only keeps her hand steady, her voice soft, “More than I care to remember… I have a knack for cruelty that gets the better of me too often.”

Yennefer curses the tremble she cannot control as she places her hand over Tissaia’s, she has seduced emperors without so much as a quiver but Tissaia has always been able to get past her defences,

“No. I meant what I said at Sodden – you saved me. You broke me, but then you put me back together, stronger than I ever would have been.”

Tissaia twists her hand so her palm meets Yennefer’s, her fingers curling round her wrist, “We saved each other.”

Yennefer strokes with her thumb but teases, “I wouldn’t have had to save you if you’d moved aside. Did you really think standing directly in front of me was the best place to be?”

“I wanted you to be the last thing I saw.”

Tissaia is not certain where such sincerity and vulnerability has come from within her but Yennefer’s hand in hers is too wonderful a feeling to ignore so she does not draw away. Does not resist when Yennefer shifts from her armchair to kneel on the floor so she can pull Tissaia into an embrace. Their height difference means that, even with Yennefer on the floor and Tissaia in a chair, the Rectoress’ chin just hooks over Yennefer’s shoulder. Tissaia sighs and sinks against the younger mage, linking her hands round her back and nestling into the raven curls that press against her cheek. It is embarrassing really how quickly she surrenders into the embrace; how wonderful it feels to have Yennefer in her arms. Yennefer hums in satisfaction and murmurs,

“You give good hugs. Who’d have thought?”

Tissaia smiles against her neck and lifts a hand to stroke through her hair, “Only when there’s someone worth holding onto.”

When Yennefer pulls back, her eyes are glittering with what could be tears or just be the firelight. Either way, she does not return to her own chair choosing instead to sit with her back against Tissaia’s knees and her head resting in her lap. Tissaia pours them both more wine and reaches for the book Yennefer had given her. The spine creaks a little when the cover is opened but soon settles into the steady rhythm of page turning as she reads out loud, her free hand twirling dark curls round her fingers. Tissaia cannot remember how she filled her evenings before Yennefer, but she is certain this right here is not something she wants to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

Yennefer is not a prude, not by any stretch of the imagination, but even she feels herself flushing when she hears the noises coming from Tissaia’s study. The Rectoress had sent for her but she must have lost track of time because Yennefer doubts Tissaia is rash enough to be… cavorting if there were even the slightest chance that Yennefer would hear of it. And she is certainly hearing it.

“Oh yes! That’s right, just like that!”

Yennefer grins and hovers her hand over the door to knock but drops it again in open-mouthed shock when Tissaia exclaims,

“Such a big boy! Oh, that’s it, just a little further, yes!”

Deciding knocking is overrated (and now more than a little disgruntled at whatever idiot man has somehow been found worthy of Tissaia’s affections), Yennefer barges in, the door swinging back on its too-smooth hinges and crashing into the wall. Tissaia leaps up from crouching on the ground and steps in front of something, spreading her skirts to conceal it. Her cheeks are flushed and her lower lip plump from worrying it with her teeth, her cuffs undone and, most telling of all, her pendant hangs in her clenched fist rather than around her neck. She almost manages to keep the squeak from her voice as she chastises,

“You have forgone knocking once again, I see.”

“Who were you talking to?”

She replies too quickly, “No one.”

Yennefer steps further into the room, craning to see past the yards of emerald material, “What’s behind your skirts? What are you hiding?”

“Noth-” Tissaia stops abruptly and winces as though she has been stung then continues, “Nothing.”

“Is it the kitchen boy? Or one of the Ban Ard tutors? Tissaia, you might at least have some discernment and bed someone with a brain…” Yennefer waggles her eyebrows suggestively, “Although their brain isn’t what you need is it?”

Tissaia splutters, “That’s not what this is! How dare you suggest such a thing?”

“Then stand aside and let me see!”

“There is nothing! And if there were, I don’t see what business it is of yours!”

Tissaia’s righteous indignation is ruined by the sudden appearance of two little paws and a face popping up above her shoulder. The tabby kitten has evidently just clawed his way up her gown and is now hauling himself onto her shoulder, tired of not being the centre of attention. Yennefer grins incredulously and points,

“There’s a kitten on your shoulder…”

Tissaia flicks her eyes towards the bundle of fur, “So it would seem.” There is silence broken only by the little growly sounds the kitten makes as he starts to bat at Tissaia’s high collar, chewing the embroidered edge of it. Tissaia sighs resignedly and drops any pretence of dignity, “I like kittens.”

Yennefer laughs gleefully, “This is priceless! The great Tissaia De Vries has a fondness for small, furry animals!”

“Cats are useful creatures! And the groundsman was going to drown them.”

“Them?”

Tissaia hesitates but must decide her reputation cannot be damaged any further so steps aside to reveal another two kittens, a ginger and a black, both gambolling in the pleats of her long skirts. Yennefer laughs harder as the ginger reaches up to swipe at the pendant still dangling from Tissaia’s hand and the scenario she’d heard suddenly becomes apparent.

“You weren’t trying to get your kittens to perform tricks, were you?”

“It’s good for their co-ordination!” Tissaia grows disgruntled as Yennefer wipes tears of laughter from her eyes, “I should have known you’d mock me.”

She settles herself on the floor, her skirts billowing round her, and the kittens scamper with delight into her lap, each pawing at the pendant even as she puts it back round her neck. Yennefer crouches down to join them,

“I’m sorry, it’s just not something I’d have expected. You always maintain such coldness. Always aloof and serious.”

“I am that way because it is necessary. That does not mean it is all I am.”

Yennefer lays her hand gently on Tissaia’s shoulder, “I know… I’ve seen the other parts of you, I know you are more than anyone has ever imagined.” She then wriggles her fingers in front of the black kitten but swears when it pounces on them, “Ouch! Vicious little thing, paws full of needles!”

Tissaia smirks as Yennefer nurses her fingers, “It’s funny, that one always reminds me of you with her black fur and feisty temper.”

Yennefer harrumphs but does not complain when the kitten pads over to her and snuggles into the black silk gown she’s wearing. She leans back on her hands and asks,

“You sent for me?”

Tissaia adjusts the tabby and ginger who have flopped into a sleepy pile then nods, “Yes. I have to travel to Oxenfurt on a sensitive matter and I would like you to accompany me.”

“Me? What use am I on diplomatic missions?”

Tissaia sighs, a frown creasing her forehead,

“My Chaos is not yet fully recovered, and I still have trouble guarding my mind. The enchantments within the walls of Aretuza have been my safety these last weeks but if I leave, I am open to manipulation. There are those who would jump at the chance with no hesitation over stooping so low.” She lifts her gaze and holds Yennefer’s, “I am asking you to maintain barriers for the both of us.”

Even when not actively participating in thought transference, all Conduits can feel other people’s minds. The gentle indistinct hum similar to the studious hush found in a library, quiet but not empty. And, with this constant connection, it is prudent to maintain barriers around one’s thoughts. Non-mages cannot control their projections and unconsciously broadcast but most mages are discerning enough to block them out. It is not unusual for Arch-Mages, like Tissaia, to be so skilled at thought transference they can read another’s mind, even a fellow mage, without them realising it. And so, with the dimeritium still lingering in her system, Tissaia is now in the same position as the unwitting humans her mind laid bare like an open book. It is considered the height of ill-manners to read a fellow mage without their permission but there are plenty unscrupulous enough to want access to the Rectoress of Aretuza’s mind. Yennefer tucks a curl behind her ear self-consciously,

“You would trust me with this?”

“You cannot think you lack the skill or power? I am entirely confident in your abilities.”

“I mean, you’d _trust_ me with it… with your mind?”

Tissaia reaches across and takes Yennefer’s hand in her own, “I am asking you to keep me safe. There is no one else I would trust with that, no one.”

Yennefer grins so hard it hurts and tries to swallow the tears that threaten to spill, not able to speak so only nodding. Tissaia smiles softly but then arches an eyebrow sternly,

“I am also trusting you will have the discretion not to go rooting around in my thoughts uninvited.”

Yennefer crosses her heart dramatically, “Word of honour, I shan’t look anywhere you don’t ask me to.”

If Tissaia notices the options left open to them in that statement she does not mention it, only nods emphatically,

“Excellent, it’s settled then. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

Yennefer scoops the black kitten up and nuzzles at her as she purrs sleepily, “Who’s looking after these menaces while you’re away?”

“The kitchen boy. On pain of death if he reveals whom they belong to.”

Yennefer chuckles and stands, brushing off her dress before reaching out to help Tissaia up. As their hands meet there is a static shock between them and Tissaia eyes their joined fingers curiously. Yennefer asks,

“Was that…that felt like Chaos rather than just a shock?”

“Yes. There are mages whose Chaos interacts with that of another mage, typically one with whom they share an intense connection.” She realises what she is implying and flushes before hurriedly continuing, “It is likely just a by-product of the huge amount of energy you channelled at Sodden and my own unstable Chaos fighting with the dimeritium. Nothing to worry about.”

Yennefer lets Tissaia brush it off for now, content not to push the possibility that it is in fact a manifestation of their growing closeness. She has just been given Tissaia’s trust, that is more than enough for now. So, the younger mage tamps down the sudden flare of hope in her chest and the delicious throb deep in her abdomen their joined Chaos had caused.

* * * *

The sky has only just begun to pale, dove-grey streaked with rose and amethyst on its eastern edge but still inky blue with stars in the west. Dew beads the grass that clings to Yennefer boots as she stumbles sleepily to the stables and not even the kitchen boy is awake yet. Melitele only knows why Tissaia has arranged to meet her here, surely her office would have been just as easy to portal from? It is only when she spies Tissaia in breeches and riding boots that Yennefer realises they are not going to be using portals at all. The chestnut Tissaia is stroking snorts, his breath fogging in the air and whinnies as Yennefer approaches. Tissaia turns and when she sees Yennefer’s attire, her eyebrows are in danger of disappearing into her hairline she arches them so high,

“You intend to ride wearing _that_?”

Yennefer scowls, “I was not aware we’d be _riding_ anywhere. What’s wrong with portals?”

“I told you this trip is of a delicate nature. I prefer to travel incognito and under the radar of any overly-curious colleagues – that means no overt displays of magic.”

Tissaia flicks her head towards the stables, “The bay is saddled ready for you. I’ll wait for you to change.”

Yennefer mutters petulantly but weaves her hands back and forth, the dress morphing into a blouse and breeches, a fur coat snugging round her and her boots becoming far more practical. She gives a self-satisfied grin even though Tissaia is shaking her head at such frivolous use of energy. Yennefer climbs into her saddle and looks down at Tissaia dwarfed by the horse,

“Do you need a leg-up?”

Tissaia glares and hoists herself up, swinging a shapely leg clearly outlined in soft leather over the saddle and flicking her fur-lined cape over her shoulders. She raises the hood so that her face is obscured in shadow and gestures for Yennefer to do the same then wheels her mount to face the long bridge that separates Aretuza from the rest of Thanedd.

“We ride east. Are our barriers in place? Once past the bridge, all of Aretuza’s enchantments will fade.”

Yennefer nudges her horse to come along beside Tissaia then concentrates, reaching out with her mind until she can feel the edges of Tissaia’s. She is careful to keep her touches polite and unintrusive, only going far enough to set up a barrier and no further. Even with the lingering dimeritium, Tissaia’s mind is bright and sharp enough to make Yennefer shiver. Content with their defences, she replies,

“I have you. You are safe.”

Tissaia nods and then a mischievous smile briefly flashes in the shadow of her hood,

“Then let us see whether you can keep up.”

And without further warning she kicks her heels and breaks into a brisk canter, cape billowing behind her and laughter ringing as Yennefer swears and hurries to catch up. As they ride, Yennefer finds herself remembering the first time she’d felt Tissaia’s mind.

* * * *

_Yennefer shifts on the flat pillow intended to save her knees from the flagstones, but it is so thin that all it does is tease the possibility of cushioning. She is directly in the path of a draught from under the door and the cold is making her shoulder ache despite the humidity of the greenhouse where Tissaia prefers to hold her thought transference classes. It has become easier to read the other girls, Istredd’s extra practice in the grottos has made Yennefer almost confident and she is honing her technique so that it requires less intense concentration. But she still stumbles when it comes to being assessed by the Rectoress. She can never find the tricky balance of being aware but unfocused enough to slip past the physical into the realm of thoughts when Tissaia is watching her. And so, even though she is flicking through Anneke’s mind with ease, when Yennefer hears the click of Tissaia’s heeled boots approaching she suddenly finds herself staring blankly at the girl opposite with no mental link whatsoever. Tissaia sighs coldly and glares before flicking her wrist impatiently to make Anneke move aside. She does not kneel, rather stays standing directly opposite Yennefer and clasps her hands expectantly at her waist,_

_“Come then, enough of this. Either tell me what I am thinking, or you will find yourself without a roof tonight.”_

_Yennefer swallows hard and reaches out but she has barely whispered against the perimeter of Tissaia’s mind when she is thrown back unceremoniously. She scowls and tries again but is flicked away as one does with an irritating fly. Tissaia purses her lips and the other girls whisper amongst themselves. Yennefer can feel the sweat on her palms, beading on her upper lip, her shoulder distractingly painful now. She feels the anxious twisting in her gut, the hollow ache that comes when she knows she is worthless. She grits her teeth to try once more assaulting Tissaia’s defences but then realises she has never felt force or violence behind Tissaia’s explorations of her own mind. It is always careful, subtle. So, Yennefer makes herself sit back and reaches out with an open mind, holding her palm outwards rather than trying to punch through. Nothing. But then, something warm drifts through her mind. No, not warm, hot. Bright and burning, fierce but entirely controlled, powerful but subtle and graceful. She risks looking up and thinks she catches the ghost of a smile on Tissaia’s lips, but it vanishes before she can define it. Yennefer takes a deep breath and sits up straighter, following the path of the brightness out of herself and across the air to Tissaia’s mind. She hovers around the periphery, picks up the current mundane thought she is meant to and prepares to draw back. But then she is struck with the impulse of wanting more, wanting everything. She strides forward, pushing through and suddenly she can see Tissaia, see all of her, feel all of her. And she is beautiful. The Rectoress snaps her head up and steps smartly back, her cheeks flushed. Yennefer is evicted with such force that it sends her sprawling onto her back, her mind reeling and stars dancing before her eyes. It would seem Yennefer had found more than she was meant to. Tissaia fights to regain control of her breathing, her eyes narrowed and fingers hurrying towards her pendant._

_“That will be all for today. Yennefer, you will write me an essay on the etiquette and propriety of thought transference, no less than three scrolls worth.”_

_Yennefer picks herself up from the floor and despite the punishment she has just been handed, she is floating. Because, as the novices file out of the door, Yennefer hears Tissaia’s voice clear as day in her mind,_

_“Remember today when next you doubt yourself. You have more to give than you imagine.”_

* * * *

Yennefer wriggles uncomfortably in the saddle, shaking herself from the memories and grumbles,

“When do we stop?”

“We need to cross the Pontar before dark. There is an inn on the opposite bank where we can stop for the night.”

They have managed to avoid any company on the road so far by using the smaller tracks. The bitter wind and angry sky are also in their favour as anyone with good sense is safely indoors. The meandering trails they have been riding however are now all converging with the main road leading to the bridge and Yennefer narrows her eyes as a group of men come into view. They wear no colours or emblems marking them as soldiers, but their horses are too good to be mere hunters or merchants. And she catches the glint of steel concealed in their cloaks. Tissaia has obviously drawn the same conclusions because her voice warns in Yennefer’s head,

_I don’t like the look of them. Pull back a bit, let them go ahead._

_They’d leave us well alone if they realised who we were._

_No. No magic, no glamour or enchantments to befuddle them._

Even though they slow to a walk and hang back, the bandits notice the two women behind them and one wolf-whistles,

“Hey lads, got us some company for the road! Come closer sweethearts, we don’t bite.”

Another laughs lewdly, “Unless that’s what you’re into of course!”

Yennefer bristles and her fingers itch to throw back her hood and cast a hex on the poxy lot but Tissaia just lowers her head demurely and guides her mount to sidestep the group. She has almost made it past them when one reaches out and smacks her horse’s rump making it rear up in surprise, throwing Tissaia in the process. The men laugh and leer as she tries to stand but her cloak is tangled, and the ground is muddy. As Tissaia stumbles, one of the vagabonds makes a lewd gesture suggesting she land in a position where she may service him. Yennefer can dimly hear Tissaia in the back of her mind urging her to stay calm, but she has no hope of reigning in the rage that descends. The first two men fall off their mounts clutching their throats as her paralysing spell suffocates them. Those still able to, draw their swords and ride at her but one’s nose breaks spontaneously, erupting in a fountain of blood and another is dangled upside down before being dropped headfirst. The last assailant swings a hammer and catches Yennefer before she has a chance to cast, spinning her out of the saddle into a crumpled heap. Yennefer’s own nose is trickling with blood, her Chaos dangerously spent, and she fights to summon enough strands to weave a shield before the next blow. Tissaia’s shout echoes in her mind,

_Drop the barriers, you’re wasting energy!_

Yennefer grimaces but does not release the guards round Tissaia’s mind, _I’m not letting go of you._

_Yennefer! Don’t be foolish!_

The hammer glances off the wobbly shield Yennefer has managed to conjure but the next blow shatters it and the younger mage watches as the weapon arcs towards her, time seeming to slow. The effects of dimeritium are devastating and lingering, Tissaia has struggled to perform more than the simplest enchantments whilst recovering. Which makes the lightning that strikes the man all the more incredible. Yennefer shivers at the crackling in the air, the ripples of Chaos that reach her as white-hot bolts shoot from Tissaia’s outstretched hand. Her hood has been knocked back, her cheeks smeared with mud and wisps of hair tumbling from her customary bun. She is dishevelled and radiating power, her eyes blazing with rage and she has never looked more beautiful to Yennefer. The man with the hammer goes rigid then falls to the ground, his limbs twitching in the mud. Tissaia has crossed the space between them and knelt by Yennefer’s side in the time it takes the younger mage to lift herself up on her elbows. She grips Yennefer’s shoulders and scolds angrily,

“Never, _never,_ endanger yourself for my sake again! Do you hear me?”

“I thought that’s what we do now.” Yennefer winces as she sits further up, “I promised to hold your thoughts safe, I do not break promises.”

“You’d have broken your skull never mind your promises! Stubborn girl!”

“You seemed to have things in hand… I’ve never seen anyone cast Alzur’s Thunder before.” Yennefer thinks perhaps the hammer did hit her head after all, that would explain the dreamy murmur that escapes her before she can stop it, “You’re magnificent, you know that?”

Tissaia flushes and bites her lower lip but hurriedly disguises her fluster by snorting disbelievingly, “Hardly. It’s a miracle I didn’t hit you instead.”

Yennefer searches for the words to convince her, to express just how wonderful Tissaia has become to her. Rather than smother her with over-used platitudes or ostentatious compliments though, Yennefer presses her fingers carefully to Tissaia’s lips to hush her and lets her mind do the talking,

_Remember today when next you doubt yourself. You have more to give than you imagine._

Tissaia’s eyes widen as she recognises her own words, now even more poignant after their exchange on the wall at Sodden. She reaches to brush a strand of hair from Yennefer’s forehead and lets her fingers trail down her cheek. Yennefer has just begun to wonder what those fingers would feel like tracing further down her body when Tissaia speaks,

“We should move, there’s a storm coming.”

It is true. The wind is howling with a vengeance now and the sky has brightened deceptively, the white glow heralds snow however and flakes start to drift down even as Tissaia helps Yennefer up. Yennefer is deciding which spell will best serve to bring their bolted horses back when Tissaia puts two fingers in her mouth and whistles piercingly. The horses whinny in response and appear from the treeline and Yennefer shakes her head,

“You’re full of surprises.”

Tissaia smirks and flicks her cape around her, raising the hood to block out the worst of the now biting wind. As they ride onwards to the bridge, the windows of the inn across the water glowing invitingly in the gloomy cold, Yennefer withdraws from Tissaia’s mind but is stopped mid-way,

_Where are you going?_

_You don’t need me to guard you anymore, your Chaos returned with quite the flourish remember?_

_I have not asked you to leave._

Yennefer hesitates, it is dangerous to allow their bond to continue strengthening, the tell-tale prickle of wanting to flee before becoming entangled is niggling at her. But she is like a moth to a flame and so, she settles once more around the edges of Tissaia’s thoughts. Watchful but not intrusive. And she cannot help the shiver when Tissaia, now able to channel her mind more clearly, reciprocates.

_We guard each other now. If you will have me?_

Yennefer nods and then spurs her horse to break away before she does anything more to break her heart wide open for the woman who has always been its weak point.


	3. Chapter 3

The inn is busier than Tissaia would like but it will only get worse the closer to Oxenfurt they go. And the snow is falling thickly now, flurries following them in as she and Yennefer hurry through the door. And for all that it is crowded it is not rauccous, the clientele a mix of merchants and middle-class travellers, no thugs or soldiers to be seen. And, more importantly, no mages that Tissaia can detect. The courier with his document-tube strapped firmly to his back even as he eats gives her pause but the Kaedweni unicorn that flashes on his tunic eases her. Tissaia instructs Yennefer simultaneously as she approaches the bar and starts negotiating with the innkeeper for lodgings,

_If you see anyone with Redanian colours, let me know. And any mages, even if it’s just a hedge-witch._

Yennefer smirks a little as she replies,

_Now you’re just showing off – holding two conversations at once when yesterday you could barely light a candle with magic. Are you going to tell me what all this secrecy is about?_

Tissaia does not respond as she is now arguing vehemently with both the innkeeper and his wife,

“How can you possibly only have one bed left? And at such an extortionate price?”

The rotund innkeeper eyes her over the rim of the glass he’s polishing, “In case you hadn’t noticed missus, it’s blowing a gale, the snow be falling and the Midinvaerne festival is near upon us. That means lots of folks looking for lodgings.” He cajoles, “It’s only the one bed but it is our best. The whole top floor, bath included.”

His wife adds, “Hot supper and your horses tended to.”

Tissaia sighs resignedly and withdraws her coin purse. She pretends her reticence is over the cost but in reality, it is the thought of sharing a bed with Yennefer that has made her heart leap into her throat. Tissaia has not shared a bed with anyone in nearly a year, and even before then it had only been for a night at a time on the rare occasion she needed some tension relieved. It has been… too long for her to remember, since she last had anyone remotely important laying next to her, listening to them breath. But the storm is raging, and they are both exhausted after their encounter with those brutes on the road. So, she pays the frankly ridiculous amount and follows the wife up the stairs, Yennefer bringing up the rear. Tissaia frowns as she glances at the younger mage out of the corner of her eye. She is still carrying herself straight and proud, still beautiful and menacing in equal measure. But Tissaia can see the slight stoop in her right shoulder, the crusty dried blood round her nose that she had forgotten to wipe away. It had frightened Tissaia more than she thought possible when she watched that hammer swinging towards Yennefer. Her Chaos had come crashing through the last of the dimeritium and shot out of its own volition, only Tissaia’s iron will and considerable skill managing to wrestle it into submission and direction. Whilst she is grateful for the return of her magic, it has disconcerted more than she is willing to admit that her Chaos responded so violently to Yennefer’s peril. She does not enjoy the idea of another person having that much of an effect on her, that much control over her uncontrollable parts.

After three flights of stairs the woman in front of her swings open a door and ushers them into a large, comfortable chamber. Tissaia is pleasantly surprised and nods at the offer of hot water and food. The door shuts creaking and setting her teeth on edge, but Yennefer chuckles and passes her hand over the hinges, murmuring an incantation Tissaia does not recognise. Yennefer swings the door once to test it and nods in satisfaction as it moves silently. She turns and flashes a grin,

“We can’t have you twitching every time we open it.”

“That’s a useful spell, you’ll need to teach it to me. I don’t know it.”

“I should think not. I came up with it.”

Tissaia arches her eyebrows, “I’m impressed. Although I can’t believe you couldn’t think of any spell more consequential to invest your time and energy in.”

Yennefer grows serious, “Fixing something that troubles you is not inconsequential, Tissaia.”

Tissaia blinks too quickly and busies herself with removing her cape and gloves. She catches Yennefer’s hurt shrug out of the corner of her eye and kicks herself inwardly. It is baffling her how much she has come to care for Yennefer, and it is proving harder than she would like to overcome her customary coldness. They had just about settled into an easy friendship but then their hands had sparked yesterday and sent a jolt straight through Tissaia’s abdomen. And now, she is driven to distraction by tiny details. The scent of Yennefer’s hair as she shakes it loose from her hood, the little freckle on her cheek, the way she walks differently when she’s kicked her boots off – more of a padding about like a kitten rather than the stalking of a leopard. Tissaia hangs her cape neatly and arranges her own boots and Yennefer’s into a corner, searching for any task to keep her occupied. She turns back from her tidying and nearly squeaks in surprise because Yennefer is parading about in nothing but an undershirt that barely skims the tops of her thighs.

“You’ll freeze! Put some more clothes on!”

“The room’s warm enough don’t you think?”

And Tissaia cannot argue to the contrary because a flush is sweeping along her high-cheekbones and she has to loosen her collar to get some air. But that has nothing to do with the fire crackling merrily in the grate nor the muted chatter and residual warmth drifting up through the floorboards from the tavern below. She is rescued by the food and bathwater arriving and she all but flies to the door to open it. Yennefer pops a handful of grapes into her mouth and asks,

“Do you mind if I bath first? I’ve got mud in places you wouldn’t believe.”

Tissaia makes a sound she’s never made in her life and probably wouldn’t be able to produce at will and Yennefer raises an eyebrow in amusement,

“Are you alright?”

“Fine. Yes, you go bath and I’ll enjoy the spread.” Yennefer’s eyebrow arches higher, a smirk round her mouth and Tissaia splutters, “The food! I’ll enjoy the food!”

Yennefer chuckles wickedly but squeezes Tissaia’s shoulder fondly before disappearing behind the woefully inadequate screen, its latticework offering more than enough of a view to fuel the imagination. Tissaia pours more of the Beauclair white into the glass than she would normally in the hopes that it will steady her nerves. She allows herself to remove her boots and loosen the ties on her shirt so that it flaps round her collar, but she remains firmly buttoned-up otherwise. To be honest, even if she had the room to herself, she doubts she would ever have the abandon to wander about in nothing but a flimsy blouse. The sounds of Yennefer splashing and soaping up do little to curb her imagination so Tissaia makes herself clatter with cutlery, rattling the log basket, straightening the candlesticks and bed-furs with gusto, polishes her boots by hand which she has not done since she was a novice. Anything to keep her mind from wandering behind the screen. She has just got her boots to gleam so bright she can see her reflection in them when she hears a muttered curse and a big splash followed by Yennefer calling,

“Tissaia?”

Tissaia freezes, willing herself to breath quietly but she’s been making such a racket these past twenty minutes there is no hope of pretending to have left the room. Yennefer calls again, sounding cross,

“Tissaia!”

Tissaia clears her throat, “Yes?”

“Can you come help me? I’ve done something to my shoulder.”

Tissaia downs the last of the wine in her glass to fortify her then crosses the room to behind the screen, appearing tentatively round its edge.

“What happened?”

“I was trying to wash my back and I’ve wrenched my bad shoulder.”

Tissaia forgets her nerves because she can see the unshed tears in Yennefer’s eyes and the way she is cradling her arm against herself. She rolls up her sleeves and tuts soothingly, a protective instinct kicking in,

“Here, let me see. That’s it, keep it resting against your chest. May I touch your back?”

Yennefer looks up at her incredulously, “No one’s ever asked me that before…”

Tissaia flicks her eyes away, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply it was something untouchable, I-”

Yennefer uses her good hand to grip Tissaia’s which rests on the edge of the bathtub, “I know. I’m saying I appreciate you asking.”

Tissaia nods and moves round to crouch behind the bathtub, feeling carefully along Yennefer’s scapula and shoulder joint. Yennefer winces once or twice but sighs in relief when warmth spreads through the muscles, Tissaia softening the fibres which had knotted and soothing the wrenched bones. The older mage wipes her brow after the effort of healing then asks,

“Any better?”

“Much. Thank you.”

“It’ll be tender for a few hours, better rest it. I’ll put it in a sling once you’re done.”

She prepares to leave but can’t help the tugging in her chest when she watches Yennefer try to retrieve both the soap and sponge one-handed.

“Here, let me.”

Tissaia trembles a little as she twists Yennefer’s hair out of the way and catches a glimpse of curves, shadowy contours below the water. She nearly runs scared but, as she begins to wash the last of the mud and misery away, she calms. After all, it is only Yennefer. Yennefer who in the space of a month has opened her up more than anyone else in her four hundred years. Yennefer who is fierce and bright but will never burn her. So, Tissaia relaxes in the fragrant steam drifting up from the water and begins to delight in the shapes of Yennefer beneath her hands. And when Yennefer leans back and flutters her eyes open to look at her, her good hand coming up to cup Tissaia’s cheek, Tissaia melts into the touch. She gasps when Yennefer murmurs in her mind, her voice deeper than usual, breathless and throaty,

_Tissaia… I-_

_Don’t. Please._

_Why?_

Tissaia mutters as she stands abruptly, “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Yennefer scrabbles to climb out of the tub to follow her as she hurries away but between her wet feet and weakened arm, by the time she reaches the main chamber Tissaia has fled, the door wide open and her boots still in the corner. Yennefer curses and pulls a towel round herself but resists her first instinct which is to chase Tissaia down. It is her thought transference class all over again; she wants to batter Tissaia’s walls down, but it will serve her better to open hers and wait. And so, Yennefer searches for Tissaia’s signature, her own personal thread of Chaos in the web that spans between all Conduits. When she is content that Tissaia is not in any danger and close enough that she may contact Yennefer if she needs her, Yennefer sits and pours a glass. When she can no longer keep her eyes open, she falls into the bed but leaves a candle burning.

Tissaia tiptoes back up the stairs, her bare feet mottled with cold and dirty. The stables where she has hidden the last few hours had been warm with all the horses, but she shouldn’t have crossed the yard with no boots on, it has chilled her to the bone. The animals had calmed her, she’d even groomed some of them, losing herself in the task. Yennefer is, mercifully, asleep when Tissaia pads into the room and Tissaia prays to every deity she can think of (none of whom she has ever believed in) that the younger mage stays that way. She washes hurriedly, not bothering to warm the bathwater then sits in front of the fire with her pipe, the smoke easing her nerves a little. When at last she cannot fight sleep any longer, she perches herself carefully on the mattress, as far away as possible from Yennefer who is snuggled up in the sheets and furs. Blowing out the candle and waiting a moment to allow her eyes to adjust, Tissaia reaches up and starts to undo her bun. She does not need light, the pins are so exactly placed that she can remove them by muscle memory. As she feels for the last few, her fingers brush against something warm and she stiffens. Tissaia feels the mattress shift as Yennefer sits up, hears the rustle of sheets and her own pounding heartbeat thudding in her ears. The fingers underneath her own move carefully and extract the final pins, Yennefer’s breath ghosting over her shoulder as she searches for the last pieces holding Tissaia together.

_Yennefer…_

_Nothing has to happen. Do you want me to stop?_

Tissaia shivers as her hair tumbles free and down her back, Yennefer’s fingers combing through the strands but pausing as she waits for consent,

_Tissaia?_

Tissaia turns and finds Yennefer with her hands in the dark, traces down her face to cup her jaw, curls round a shoulder to pull her closer and rests their foreheads together. And as their skin meets and their Chaos leaps to interact, the little sparks are visible in the gloom crackling and bright. Yennefer insists,

_Is this alright?_

Tissaia breathes the thought, _Yes. It’s more than alright._ She pauses but decides it is now or never, _Would…would you only hold me tonight? I know it’s not enough but I-_

Yennefer interrupts her fretting gently but firmly, _It is enough. You are enough, you are everything._

And Tissaia’s next thought flows between them without her even trying, _Oh, Yenna…_

Yennefer smiles, Tissaia feels it beneath her fingertips rather than sees it, and pushes her gently to lay down, lifting the furs to cover both of them. She shifts closer and slips her arm round Tissaia’s waist, pressing them close together and tucks Tissaia’s head against her collarbones, stroking through her hair. And Tissaia melts into her, linking her arms round her back and trying not to cry as she realises she can hear Yennefer’s heartbeat against her cheek. And although the old fear and worry is still there, Tissaia is able to ignore it because it is only Yennefer, after all. It is only Yennefer and she is everything.

* * * *

Yennefer hovers in the doorway of the main hall in Aretuza. It’s been almost two weeks since they returned from Oxenfurt and she and Tissaia have been acting like blushing schoolgirls. Yennefer catches herself twirling her curls round her finger when talking to the Rectoress. They make excuses to be in the same room, brushing hands furtively under the table at Conclaves, exchanging longing glances then hastily flicking their eyes away whenever anyone walks in. It would be laughable, two grown women, Sorceresses no less, reduced to lovesick fools if it weren’t so deliciously wonderful. Yennefer has never been one for flirting or courtship, never wanted to indulge in the pussyfooting, preferring instead to go from ‘how do you do’ straight into bed and then out the other side before the other person wakes. But it is setting something alight in her watching Tissaia unfurl, knowing now that when she frowns and clasps her hands at her waist it is not the real Tissaia, not the warm and quivering one that Yennefer gets to see when no one else is looking. Which is why she is skulking at the threshold, loath to appear and break the spell as Tissaia is currently oblivious that she is being watched. As is evidenced by the tune she’s humming and the way she hikes her skirts up to climb the stepladder. The Yule pine has been stood in the hallway, its branches still dripping with snow and fresh beeswax candles stuck into its twigs waiting to be lit. And, for reasons that escape Yennefer, the Rectoress of Aretuza is the one balancing on the rickety ladder, her small frame disappearing into the bushy firs as she reaches to hang an ornament just so. Yennefer chuckles as Tissaia emerges from the pine-needles and calls from across the hall,

“Don’t you have people to do that for you?”

She pushes off from leaning against the doorjamb and crosses the flagstones to hold the ladder steady as Tissaia looks down at her,

“These are glass ornaments blown in the workshops of Kovir by the gnomes who first taught humans the art – they’re almost as old as I am and a relict of a bygone era, craftsmanship that is long lost. So no, I will not be letting a random dogsbody hang them thank you very much.”

She flicks her hand impatiently at the next ornament and Yennefer rolls her eyes but picks it up to hand it to her,

“And you’re doing it by hand because?”

“Not everything needs to be achieved magically, sometimes there is a magic in doing without Chaos.”

“Oh yes, your hair full of pine-needles and risking your neck on a ladder, pure magic right there.”

Tissaia just raises an eyebrow then turns back to the tree, nodding in satisfaction when the glass star is nestled where she wants it. Tissaia is usually a well-coordinated individual but Yennefer befuddles her more than any enchantment could. Which is the excuse she gives herself for what happens next. Before she realises quite what is happening, Tissaia has slipped on a rung and is hurtling towards the flagstones. The cold floor never comes though, instead she finds herself pressed against Yennefer’s chest and strong arms round her. Dimly through her roaring heartbeat Tissaia hears Yennefer,

“I do believe I just rescued my first damsel in distress.”

Tissaia cannot quite find her voice yet, it and the pit of her stomach still up on the ladder it feels like. She manages to think loud enough for Yennefer to hear though,

_Shut up. I’d never have fallen if you weren’t distracting me._

_I distract you, do I?_

And, because she cannot think of anything to say that won’t make her sound like a fool, Tissaia clears her throat and declares,

“I still need to light the candles.”

Yennefer smiles knowingly and keeps her arms round Tissaia, turning them so they face the tree. She raises her palm,

“I’ll do it.”

Tissaia snatches at her outstretched hand, “You? You’ll burn the whole thing to ashes!”

Yennefer grins and steps closer, her lips murmuring against Tissaia’s ear as she uses the hand still resting on Tissaia’s diaphragm to stroke along her forearm,

“I _am_ capable of subtlety. Watch.”

She ripples her fingers lightly, a precise dance with little sparks of Chaos releasing and gliding over Tissaia on their way to the candles. The older mage shivers and gasps when Yennefer whispers right against her ear,

“See? Not every flame has to be dangerous, not every bit of warmth will burn you.”

The wicks catch gradually, the warm glow spreading slowly across the tree until it is twinkling, the flame refracted in the glass ornaments into hundreds of rainbows. Tissaia turns her head to look up at Yennefer and spies the sprig of mistletoe dangling from the eaves above them.

“Did you put that there?”

“No!” Yennefer grins, “I promise it wasn’t me. But, seeing as we’re here.”

Her voice is full of bravado but Tissaia knows its nuances and cadences well-enough to hear the fear and hope in it. She smiles,

“It would be bad luck not to.”

Yennefer’s eyes widen and Tissaia lets her gaze drop to her mouth, before shutting her eyes and leaning in slowly. And any doubts she may have been harbouring evaporate when Yennefer brings her hand up to cradle the back of her head and asks,

_Are you sure?_

Tissaia opens her eyes and locks with Yennefer’s violet ones, letting a single thought flow between them warm and bright,

_Kiss me, Yenna._

And she does, the candles flickering as their Chaos surges to match the joy and love coursing through them. Their minds are still linked, as has become their habit, which means Yennefer sees the next thought that flashes through Tissaia’s mind and she has to break the kiss to chuckle. Tissaia lifts an eyebrow enquiringly and Yennefer grins,

“I just saw what you want for Yule.”

Tissaia flushes but lets her fingers tease across the fastening of Yennefer’s bodice, “Well, gifts usually come wrapped in satin ribbons so I don’t see why you shouldn’t be.”

Yennefer bends her head to whisper, “Oh I’m sure that can be arranged.” She smiles and presses a gentle kiss to Tissaia’s lips, “Anything for you. Always.”

Tissaia cups her cheek and promises in return, “Always.”

And despite the snow and the cold chain of the pendant serving as a constant reminder of her duty to control her emotions, Tissaia has never felt so warm nor so much but, to her surprise, she is not afraid. Not with Yennefer holding her.


End file.
